Press on the soul, from its unfathom’d depth
Rousing the fiery feelings, and proud thoughts,
In all their fearful strength! ’Tis ever thus,
And doubly so with me; for I awoke
With high aspirings, making it a curse
To breathe where noble minds are bow’d, as here.
—To breathe!—It is not breath!
Con. I know thy grief,
—And is’t not mine?—for those devoted men
Doom’d with their life to expiate some wild word,